This Spa Day Provided to You by Stark Industries
by ForASecondThereWe'dWon
Summary: The decathlon team needs a break. Tony Stark is happy to bankroll. Peter may or may not be completely overwhelmed by the thought of his girlfriend in one of those fluffy white spa robes.


**Author's Note:**

My seventh Spideychelle one-shot since finishing _Affinity War_! This fic and those that will follow in the coming weeks are based off a list of prompts, posted on my Tumblr (forasecondtherewedwon).

* * *

**17\. "I know what I want, when I want it. So get over here," and 48. "If you want to get me naked, you'll have to convince me it'll be worth my time."**

Peter sighed into the phone.

"When I said the decathlon team really needs to relax before our next competition, that was just me complaining! I wasn't asking you to spend money on us!"

"Yes, but that's the beauty of being Tony Stark's favourite intern―"

"―only intern," Peter mumbled.

"―I solve your problems before you even realize they need solving."

"I _did_ realize," he argued, flinging himself down onto his bed.

"And you weren't going to do anything about it besides complain? That's not very 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' of you, kid."

"I… had some thoughts," Peter said defensively.

"Such as?"

"Puppy room?"

"Like you rent puppies to help your pals cope with pre-competition stress, is that the definition of 'puppy room' we're working from?" Mr. Stark checked. "Meaning you have puppies brought into your school, meaning you expose those halls of learning to the evils of… what's it called? Pet dander! Because there's always one kid, Pete, always that one kid who's allergic to puppies and spoils things for everyone else. And then, gee, it's not the puppy's fault, but now there's sneezing and itching and throats swelling shut, an ambulance is called to cart poor Timmy off to the hospital, and in the meantime, the puppies have peed and ralphed all over the floor, thereby causing more stress than what existed to begin with! Then, of course, you're blamed for the whole thing because it was your idea, probably kicked off the team, definitely socially ostracized, and always left wondering, 'Was it worth it?'"

There was a long pause.

"What happens to Timmy?" Peter wondered.

"Oh, they couldn't save him. Anyway, doesn't a spa day sound more peaceful than all that?"

"Only because you turned the puppy room into some kind of horror movie epidemic."

"It was a rhetorical question, since the obvious answer," Mr. Stark informed him, "is a simple 'yes.' By the way, why am I having to sell this to you so hard when I'm the one who paid for it?"

"That one's gotta be rhetorical," Peter said, but his mentor had already hung up.

* * *

"So, there's, like, a sauna, a pool and hot tubs, or you can get a massage, or―"

"Living in a luxurious, fluffy spa robe for a day is basically my dream," Ned declared, interrupting Peter.

With a glance around the room, Peter saw that most of his teammates seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Ned, expressions smiling and full of relief. Most of them. MJ was frowning.

"Have we done research on this place?" she asked. "When was its last health inspection? How regularly do they test the chemical composition of the pool water? Have there been any reported cases of―"

"It's fine," Peter assured her. "Mr. Stark goes there all the time. Actually, I think he might own it…"

"And there's never been a negligent billionaire business owner with his fingers in so many pies that he lets standards slip at one of his investments," MJ replied sarcastically.

He didn't know where to start grappling with that, but his mouth hung open, waiting for his brain to fill it with an intelligent yet sensitive response.

"Yeah, but, MJ―" Flash jumped in.

"Michelle to you," she corrected flatly.

"―free massages!" He raised his eyebrows like she was an idiot for having any misgivings in the face of complimentary spa treatments.

MJ rolled her eyes.

"Fine, we can focus on that, in which case, I have questions about the staff's training, techniques―"

"Are you serious?" Peter said, accidentally out loud. Dumb question; his girlfriend was always serious.

She gave him a fixed stare.

"I'd like the person who massages me to know what they're doing. If you want to get me naked, you'll have to convince me it'll be worth my time."

He felt the heat seeping up his neck into his face.

"_I_ don't want… N-not me _personally_…"

"I'll do some research before we go," Betty cheerfully volunteered. Peter smiled gratefully at her as she turned to face MJ, uncapping her pen and holding it poised over a pad of paper. "What were your concerns again?"

"Happy thoughts," Ned instructed as Peter cradled his forehead in his hand, rattled. "Fluffy, fluffy robes."

"Yeah," he agreed, tone striving for levity. "Robes. Right."

What he was really thinking about was how much trouble he was in. If MJ was this brazen in front of their friends, how was he supposed to hang out with her at the spa? Sure, they'd found enough opportunities since they'd started dating to make it to second base, but actually seeing her in a bathing suit was a whole different thing! The robes were Ned's idea of a calming thought, but what did people wear underneath them? Nothing! Picturing him and MJ in matching robes was therefore not a very calming thought.

This spa day was going to kill him.

* * *

"What's next on your itinerary?" Peter asked distractedly, leaning against one of the large lockers in the men's changing room. It was uncanny, being in a room full of lockers without even the faintest odour of foot sweat―this spa was a distinct step up from the locker room at school.

"Couples facial with Betty," Ned replied happily.

Peter frowned.

"That's a thing?"

"Yes, Peter," Ned sighed, exasperated. "Maybe you should've spent your time doing a more thorough scan of the veritable smorgasbord of treatments instead of concentrating on avoiding MJ."

Peter jerked away from the locker.

"What? Avoiding her?" He shifted his feet.

Ned sighed again.

"You can't hide in the changing room all day."

"I haven't been!"

"Every time I come back here to get my water or change into swim trunks, you're here."

"We're obviously very in sync," Peter insisted. "And I was just leaving."

Ned folded his arms and stared his best friend down.

"Uh huh."

"I am! I'm going… swimming."

"With your shoes on," Ned checked, glancing down to Peter's sneakers.

"I don't want to contract a foot fungus. Better safe than sorry."

"Can you even get a foot fungus?" Ned asked, lowering his voice and leaning closer for increased discretion. "Wouldn't your super-spider-ness protect you from something like that? Wouldn't seem right if you could avoid supernatural attacks only to be felled by a foot fungus. Or would it―"

"Bye, Ned," Peter interrupted, and exited the room.

He did actually have his bathing suit on underneath the robe―Ned had been adamant about the robe-wearing―so he might as well head towards the pool. Following the scent of chlorine, Peter turned down a quiet hallway, lined with doors on both sides.

He could swim for hours if he had to. Just until―oh man, he was totally avoiding MJ. He'd only seen her for about two seconds today after they'd arrived. Being gifted a spa day by Iron Man wasn't the same as a standard field trip, so the team had had to make their own way here. (Peter wasn't going to remind Mr. Stark that he'd blanked on providing transportation in luxury cars; Pepper would take care of that.) Too chicken to even sit next to his girlfriend in the back seat of a car, Peter had waited until Abe offered to pick up Flash, Cindy, and MJ before assuring a few of the others that his aunt would be happy to give rides as well. This was pathetic.

Peter went to brush his hair back anxiously and bumped the corner of his glasses, unused to them. Disoriented, he stopped walking to settle them back into their proper position on his face. His arms tingled as he lowered his hands and Peter became tense and alert. Quickly glancing around, he noticed that the door at the end of the hall was ajar. He flattened his back to the wall and crept hurriedly and silently towards it.

The hairs on his arms were completely standing up once he was right outside the door, so Peter pushed it open and darted inside, shifting to a defensive posture and pulling the door closed behind him―one less escape route for whoever or whatever was in here with him. Besides the soothing soundtrack of wind chimes by the ocean.

Beyond the massage table dominating the space, a door at the rear of the room opened and out stepped MJ, head down, tying a robe identical to Peter's. It was suddenly difficult to swallow.

She looked up and gasped, then sighed, hand to her chest.

"What the hell, Peter?"

"S-sorry," he blurted, straightening up. "I thought… there was something…"

Peter studied his arms, confused. He'd believed that extra Spidey sense was just, like, a space donut alert system. Now it was an MJ finder? He guessed he had been thinking about her a lot lately. Possibly, the conscious fixation _plus_ the unconscious longing that had her appearing in his dreams most nights had triggered some kind of biological recalibration, thereby setting the sense to prepare for hormones instead of intergalactic battle. The potential science of it was pretty cool and Peter tried to think about that in order to maintain his rapidly failing composure.

MJ flipped her trapped hair out of the neck of her robe. Holy shit.

"I'm still not used to the glasses," she said, approaching him and sounding enviably calm. "Are you self-conscious about them? Is that why I've barely seen you today?"

"No, I'm not… I'm not self-conscious," he choked out. Clearing his throat, he continued. This was a safe topic which would aid him with not stare at her legs below the hem of the knee-length robe. "They help my eyes relax. Dampen stimuli. Kinda like those old black goggles I had. The ones I showed you―"

"―when we were in your bedroom."

Abort. That was not a neutral memory. He revisited it―oh boy, did he revisit it―but only in private, in bed at night. Sometimes in the shower. His pulse pounded unmistakeably in his groin.

"Yeah," Peter agreed weakly. "Then."

"I like the glasses."

"You do?"

MJ stopped in front of him and Peter imagined the feel of her robe's tie in his hand as he pulled it free of the loops. It was so easy to picture.

"Mhmm, you look… They just make you look more…"

Peter caught her eye and noticed something. She was flustered. While MJ searched for whatever she wanted to say, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her robe; it strained the tie, slackening the fold of fabric across her body to expose a larger V of her neck and chest. Peter gestured awkwardly at the bared skin, then reached out, intending to fix it for her. (The swelling in his swim trunks pleaded for him to yank the material apart.) Her hand collided with his as she went to do the same thing.

"…sexy," MJ concluded.

Peter's fingers slid across her skin until his palm was flat on her chest, then he brought his other hand to the back of her neck and kissed her. They held each other with shaky hands, nervous and giddy. Everything with her was still brand new. Internally, Peter felt like he was inside one of those paint can agitators at the hardware store―the kind that he'd seen when May had picked a new colour for the kitchen and dragged him along to pack-mule the cans to and from the car―but his lips were becoming more certain against MJ's. And his dick was really committing to this erection, thickening with every passing second.

Peter was getting lost, unable to tell how their closed-mouth kiss had opened up to allow their tongues to meet and tangle. MJ moaned softly and he wrapped both arms around her with urgency. He wondered if his glasses were fogging up, like the windows in steamy movie scenes; he didn't open his eyes to check.

Touching his face in a way that felt more profoundly intimate than what seemed possible for the length of their relationship so far, she pressed her body closer. Oh god. Snatching a shallow breath between kisses, Peter let his hand tumble from her neck, sweeping unevenly across the plush stretch of her robe and resting on the small of her back. He didn't push her―_wouldn't_ push her―just braced her lightly as his hips rolled forward. MJ gasped, tenderly tracing his earlobe with a fingertip.

Peter tilted his head forward until his forehead and hers seemed to support each other. He listened to his thumping heart, a steady bass to balance those tinkling wind chime noises. The natural ambiance of MJ's ragged breathing was magical. But everything was moving so fast. They weren't supposed to get this! A parental figure should have been interrupting right about now, or a ringing phone. A pizza delivery guy maybe.

Uncertainly, Peter took a step back, hands still on MJ's waist. She wrapped hers around his and he opened his eyes to see her face.

"Stark booked this whole place for us, right?"

Oh, they were talking about Mr. Stark now. Peter was thrown by his girlfriend's lack of transition. She always did like to get to the point, not waste words. He jiggled the corner of his glasses.

"Yeah...?"

"All day?"

"Yeah," Peter answered with more conviction, focusing now.

"Well, then there's no one else coming to use this room," she informed him. "I went through the team's treatment schedules myself."

Just when he'd thought he was getting the gist of this conversation.

"You're saying…"

"I'm saying I really like the glasses."

Yeah, her eyes were saying a lot more than that. What was going on in there was much easier for Peter to follow. Like the absolute awareness while MJ let go of his hand to draw her wavy hair forward over one shoulder; she knew what she was doing to him. Were spa robes any good at concealing erections? He was curious.

To give himself a second of clear thinking (which in itself might be wishful thinking), Peter released her waist, arms hanging at his sides.

"Are you sure?" he checked.

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth had flicked up.

"I know what I want, when I want it. So get over here."

Rather than going to her, Peter took a deep breath and brought her to him, guiding MJ by her hips. Before he could kiss her, she put a hand to his chest.

"Just for now," she assured him, and plucked his glasses from his face.

Folding the legs in carefully, MJ set them on a counter next to an orderly line of jars. All Peter could think about was being able to kiss her more roughly without worrying about his glasses getting in the way; he decided to make a move based on the likeliness of her thinking the same thing. He cupped her face, touching his mouth lightly to hers only momentarily, then diving in with a firmer pressure.

There wasn't a clear path in his mind, but he directed MJ anyway, steering her by the hand on her hip while they kissed, until the solid spa table halted them. Her lips parted as though the minor impact had sent a shockwave through her body and Peter stepped right into her space, tongue teasing the inside of her lip. Incredibly (to him), his hips weren't shy against hers, pressing flush, as much as the thickness of their ever-more-irritating robes would allow.

His eyelashes fluttered on her cheek as he barely opened his eyes.

"Did they massage you?" Peter asked quietly. The room was very still. Seemed like the wind chimes must have run out of breeze.

MJ's legs shifted against his, thighs parting provocatively.

"Not everywhere."

With a groan, he squeezed her hips, not really helping as she perched, then wiggled onto the table. MJ continued spreading her legs so Peter could come closer and his hands skipped down to her thighs, smoothing up her skin as the fabric drew apart. He almost forgot about kissing, gaze sliding down her body, but MJ grabbed his jaw and leaned forward, initiating something fiery. It made his hips jerk ahead and his fingers clenched on her legs. MJ's other hand found the tie of his robe and quickly worked past that barrier, then the next―which was the tie on his swim shorts. Peter inhaled a rapid double gasp, experiencing the wonder of her hand wrapping tentatively around his erection. More securely after his slow moan.

He broke away from the kiss, nosing languidly below her jaw and down her neck as he pushed his hands to her hips. Hypothesis confirmed: people did not wear anything beneath those robes. Or at least MJ didn't. Peter shaped his hands to the front of her hips, thumbs settling into the warm crease at the top of her thighs where the band of her underwear would've been. She was stroking him now, stoking his own heat with the warmth of her palm, and he let his thumbs descend until he could feel her pulse thumping resolutely. By then, his hands were between her legs, covering everything but the place he was longing to touch; Peter skated one thumb towards the middle and it was slicked with her arousal.

MJ was breathing heavily, nudging herself against his hand, so he rotated his wrist and slipped his fingers along the track of her wetness. She shuddered, rolling her fingers against his length. Peter gave her throat a wet kiss. When she tilted her hips, lifting them slightly like she was searching for something, he made sure they came back down on his fingers, easing one inside her.

"_Peter_," she said, fast and sharp, and jerked her hips forward with the same desperate haste.

He released MJ's hip with his other hand to reach into his swim suit and tighten her grip around him, his hand over hers. Then, Peter curled the finger he had inside her, probing gently as he got his bearings. Cautiously, darting a look up at her face, he added a second finger. She made a soft, contented sound and rocked so that his fingers sunk deeper. Peter's hips bucked reflexively and she gave him a short pump, his hand tense on the back of hers.

Wetting his lip with his tongue in concentration, he hooked his fingers more insistently, tapping her taut front wall. MJ groaned, too loose to produce an "oh." Peter dug in, repeating the motion she'd enjoyed, and pushed his thumb against her clit. A hissing, sucked in breath from his girlfriend had him feeling tingly all over―seriously, his super-senses were going to be even more goofed up after this. Something in him had realigned, attuning him to MJ.

He worked his fingers faster, moving with her when she couldn't sit still. Actually, Peter started to worry that MJ was going to fall off the massage table because she kept scooting forward, so he encouraged her to lie down, gasping as her hand disengaged from his dick. Watching his girlfriend on her back, he forgot about missing her grasp; her neck arched when he rubbed her clit in a circle and every time he thrust his fingers into her―sneaking a look to witness them emerging glossy―she thrust the opposite way to take them, slackening the wrap of the robe until its V stretched nearly to her waist.

Peter was fantasizing about crawling on top of MJ (_only_ fantasizing for now because they hadn't really talk about that yet and he certainly didn't have a condom at the ready in the fluffy depths of his spa robe's pocket), yearning to drag his fingers out and plunge his cock in. He was grinning, hot and hazy in his dirty daydream, fingers wrapped around himself while he continued to, well, massage her. The word would never be the same for him.

"Mmm, _god_," she said, legs twitching where they hung off the edge of the table.

Hearing himself faintly echoing her less distinct but equally impassioned noises, Peter was almost living her pleasure. He kneaded her clit, bent and scooped his fingers frantically within her. MJ came with an extended moan, muffled because she pressed her lips shut, and Peter swallowed thickly like he was consuming the sound.

He removed one hand from his trunks (erection still throbbing), the other from his girlfriend's body. Panting, Peter retied the string (wiping his fingers on his bathing suit while he was at it), then the wider band of his robe, not taking his eyes off her. Body limp, MJ ran a hand across her face. He was mesmerized just watching her breathe.

"Help me up," she said, voice thick and altered.

She pulled the robe closed and reached out her hands for his, which Peter eagerly provided. Their eyes met with a sly shyness once their faces were level. After a minute, MJ rolled her eyes and grabbed Peter's neck, bringing him into a kiss. She sighed against his cheek when they leaned apart.

"You wanna trade places?" she asked as she lifted her head. Her hand went to his robe's tie, giving a gentle tug.

Peter laughed, heart beating hard.

"Yeah, I _really_ want to, but Ned's going to expect to see me at the pool after his facial."

MJ frowned and her playfully disappointed eyes made him want to stay that much more. Glancing at her watch―the only thing she wore, besides the robe―she shrugged.

"I have to meet Cindy for pedicures anyway." They exchanged wistful smiles. He couldn't make himself turn away, let alone walk to the door. "I'm good, Peter," MJ said. "You should sneak out of here first. Less suspicious that way."

He hesitated another few seconds, then stepped back with a nod.

"Ok, but I'll see you later. Promise," he added when she raised doubtful eyebrows.

Peter grabbed his glasses from the counter and put them on, comfortably dampening his vision. He glanced back at MJ on his way to the door.

"Seriously, dork, get out of here," she urged. "Those glasses are testing my restraint."

Face turning pink, Peter shot her a smile and crept warily into the hallway. He closed the door quietly behind him, glancing back and forth as he adjusted the overlapping fabric in front of his hips.

"Hope the pool's cold," Peter muttered, heading there for the second time and wondering how many laps it was going to take to put himself back in control of his own body.

Assuming that was possible.

Well, it was another hypothesis to test.


End file.
